


Don't Look Back

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-18
Updated: 2003-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes she believes it's because she’s beyond saving, that even he can no longer find the spark of redemption in her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through the beginning of season seven/season four; references to canonical character death and violence.

She sits. Sits and stares. It’s all she does these days. After the screaming in her head quieted all she could do was sit. She remembered whispers; the guards had been afraid of her, of what she might do. They had never seen her in a fit, didn't know she was stronger than usual, but they worried.

They still worry, only quieter. Or maybe she can't hear them anymore. When the voices got quiet, so did everything else. Except one thought. One thought that tumbled through her mind over and over again: _We're all going to die._

She knows that this is bad, but why she no longer knows. They had been here for so long, fought so hard. And for what? A tarnished or nonexistent grave marker to commemorate the passing of a girl robbed of life and family and any chance at normalcy?

She remembers one night when the warm California breeze was too steamy, as though something were coming to a boil. She is dozing, the harshness of the wall behind her back no longer distracting after two years, when a dream that wasn't hers flashes through her mind:

_It was dark. She was running, her feet pounding against the ground. Her breath was shallow, her heart hammering hard against her chest. She could hear people behind her, people were chasing her. She had to run, run faster than she could ever remember._

_She climbed up the side of a building, and suddenly they were there. There and grabbing her, holding her down. Then there was a knife--_

She wakes screaming, thrashing, trying to attack them. She tumbles to the floor, a tangle of too-strong limbs reaching for an opponent who wasn't there.

They had to sedate her, put her in solitary until she comes to her senses.

When she doesn't the whispers begin. Whispers that float at the back of her subconscious, nagging at her. But the dreams come, again and again, and she wonders Wonders if two hours and another lifetime away the blonde haired girl with smiling green eyes had them too. Wonders if these were them in full, or filters of what had already been seen.

They never stop completely, just taper away. And then they get worse. They are no longer sight and sound and feel, but profound messages meant to tell her something, guide her somewhere.

And again she wonders about the blonde girl, wonders if she knows what they mean.

# # #

She sits and stares, thinks about these things. About how her life came to this point. About what she could have done to prevent it. If she hadn’t let her Watcher watch her? Let her die? Would she still be here? Would she be the same person?

She thinks about _him_ sometimes. Wonders why he doesn't visit anymore. Sometimes she believes it's because she’s beyond saving, that even he can no longer find the spark of redemption in her.

She knows something is wrong. Or had been. But he still doesn't come to visit. At times she blames it on his line of work, but knows it can’t be because then she'd be there too fighting at the front lines (next to her. next to him. next to them).

Eventually she can be quiet. Can be the good girl, could sit and stare and not bother anyone, except in the way that can't be helped.

# # #

Soon.

She thinks it will be soon when it opens (from beneath you). Remembers the terror of the ground ripping itself open below your feet, expelling vicious demons to be fought and conquered.

A part of her, the part that loved the battle (the sound of rending flesh, of breaking bones, of terror filled screams) whishes she could be there when it does. Wishes she could die fighting, like she knows she should have (you did it, you killed me). She knows she doesn't deserve it, because she deserves this; purgatory of the highest order.

# # #

The strangest thing happens in late November. She gets a visitor. But it isn't him. Her visitor has swishy red hair (she remembers it against her cheek as she pushed a blade against the whitewhite skin of her delicate throat), and a tight, tired smile.

She sits and stares at Willow, her old enemy's face belying the hardships that she has faced. Her eyes, once sparkling with life (joylovelaughterknowledge), are weary and scarred, clouded with things Faith understands only too well.

Willow stares back for a moment, her thin lips twitching, then she picks up the phone.

"Hi, Faith."

The words are strong, and hang in the air for a moment.

She takes her phone in hand as well, but waits longer to reply, gauging Willow's expression.

"Hey."

They stare at each other reading the pain in each other’s gazes. Willow breaks the silence first. "I needed to talk to you."

"Why would you need to do that?" Faith asks quietly, remembering their last meeting with sharp regret.

She clears her throat, glances down at her lap. She takes a moment to compose herself, as though this is the hardest thing she has ever had to do. Willow takes a deep breath, then looks her straight in the eye. "I need to tell you some things, and then I need you to pretend I didn’t so I can ask you to help us."

Faith stares again, feeling like she's gawking and should look away, look away from something that was good and righteous, but has clearly now walked the same path as herself. "Fine, talk."

And they do. Willow tells her about Tara (blondehairwhiteteethporcelainskinredredblood), about magic (painpowercontrol); about Warren (hatedeath); about death and resurrection; about loosing and life and taking it; about living afterwards; about green wind swept moors; about long talks in rooms filled with the smell of tweed and tea and disappointment; about gods and castles; about falls; about shinyshiny hair and magic blood; about keys and portals.

It all pours out, and when the last word has slipped from Willow's lips Faith no longer knows what to say. Things have changed (buildingspeoplefaceslives), but they always do so she doesn't know why it surprises her anymore.

But she takes Willow's advice, and tries to forget it; listens when help is asked for.

Willow smiles, and her eyes darken, going an impenetrable shade of night. She swivels in her chair, eyes dancing across the room. Suddenly an explosion shatters the near silence, its sonic boom making Faith's ears ring and Willow wince as her eyes fade to green.

A magic spell is whispered and suddenly she finds herself beside Willow.

"Come on," she whispers, and her voice is soft, and makes Faith ache for when times were simpler, and Willow was good and she was bad.

They walk into the night, towards an uncertain future. Sirens and voices scream behind them, but neither looks back.


End file.
